Addiction
by AllieCat135
Summary: Sherlock slips back into drug use, and John has to deal with the fallout
1. Sherlock

Addiction

John had only been in bed for half an hour before his phone vibrated madly. He sat up, and fumbled for the blasted thing, managing to drop it on the floor and had to get out of bed to get it anyway. Who on earth could possibly need him at two in the morning. Sherlock was off on a case, and had been gone for two days, and had conveniently left his phone on the dining room table, so it couldn't be him.

It was Lestrade, which worried John to no end.

_**Think you'd better get down here. St Bart's, ED.**_

He knew better than to question him.

The hospital was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. There was nothing too serious, a boy with a broken arm, a case of hives and an asthma attack being the worst.

"John!" Lestrade called out from the other side of the room.

"What's he done now?" John asked, and Lestrade looked at him sullenly. He knew it wasn't good.

"No..." John trailed off, as he realised what Sherlock had done.

"Yeah." Lestrade said sadly.

"Coke?" John asked.

"Worse. Heroin."

"Fuck." John said, and disappeared off into the bathroom.

"He's alright, John." Lestrade said, following him in.

"Good. Give me a minute, will you?" John asked.

Heroin. The worst he could ever do.

"_Why? Why Sherlock, why?" _John thought to himself, repeating it over and over again in his head as he stared at his own face in the bathroom mirror, trying to think of what he was going to say to him. He left the bathroom, and Lestrade was waiting in the hall for him.

"He's this way." He said, flashing his badge when a security guard wouldn't let them through.

"Oh God, Sherlock..." He muttered as Lestrade left him outside the small private room.

John had seen it all before and his years at med school taught him to be able to block certain things out, but when it was affecting Sherlock it wasn't so easy.

"Look at me, Sherlock." He said, and Sherlock looked up, his ice blue eyes wide and dilated.

"I'm not hurt." Sherlock said quietly as John checked him over for injuries.

"But I am." He said, shutting Sherlock up.

"I'm-" Sherlock started.

"No." John cut him off before he could apologise, "You're not sorry, so don't say you are."

"John..." He said, eyes planted firmly on the floor.

"Just shut up, would you?" John said almost silently as he picked up Sherlock's pale quivering hand, and felt Sherlock's fast pulse raging. He pushed the sleeve of his long woolen coat, and found the evidence that he was looking for, ugly bruised track marks.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock choked out, unable to meet John's eyes.

John stood there for a moment, staring into Sherlock's ice blue eyes. Tentatively he pulled Sherlock in close, his head against John's chest and after a moment he felt Sherlock hesitantly wrap his arms around John's waist.

"It's alright Sherlock." He said, his tears falling through Sherlock's brown curls.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Sherlock mumbled, his face still buried in John's chest.

"I know Sherlock. It's all okay now." He said back, stroking the fragile man that was in his arms.

John helped him up and held him tightly, he didn't want to bet on his ability to walk on his own. It wasn't a long drive back to the flat from St Bart's, but it seemed to drag on none the less. Sherlock clung tightly to John the whole way, and didn't let go once.

"Having a good night, boys?" The cab driver asked from the front seat, glancing back at John and Sherlock through his rear view mirror.

"Fine thanks." John said flatly, as they pulled up outside the flat.

"That'll be 10 quid, mate." He said, and John passed him his fare.

"Good lord, are you alright Sherlock?" Came Mrs Hudson's worried voice as John half carried Sherlock inside.

"Yeah, he's fine. Just a bit of an accident. He'll be right." He lied blatantly, no use worrying the poor old woman.

"Oh not this again Sherlock..." She said, when she saw his eyes.

"Don't worry about him, Mrs Hudson, he's fine." John said, and helped Sherlock up the stairs.

"John, I'm sorry." He said his voice shaking, finally breaking his marathon silence.

"I just wish you had told me, Sherlock. Don't you trust me?" John asked, coughing as he tried to hide the lump forming in his throat.

"I do, John. I do. I just don't want you to be disappointed in me." Sherlock said.

"It's too late for that." John said as he helped Sherlock into bed.

Sherlock didn't expect John to stay with him that night, and was surprised to find that John crawling into bed beside him.

"It's alright now Sherlock." He said, and curled up close at his side.

"I love you John, I promise I'll never do this again." He said, turning to face him.

"I know, Sherlock. I love you too." He said, and kissed him.


	2. Unexpected

"I'm not quite sure how to say this to you, Dad." Hamish said, and watched as his father paced the kitchen angrily, his thudding steps sounding throughout the flat.

"Just tell me." He said flatly.

"But..." Hamish mumbled.

"Hamish, tell me." John demanded impatiently.

"I don't even know where I'd begin, Dad." He sighed, sitting down at the dining room table.

"Just start somewhere, start at the beginning." John suggested, following his teenage son down to the table, and sitting down across from him, and was soon joined by Sherlock.

"I... I..." He stuttered, unable to finish his sentence.

"Spit it out, boy!" John said, growing more and more impatient as time went on.

"I started doing drugs." He said quietly, hiding his face in his hands. John just looked at him, and Sherlock simply got up and walked out. "Dad? Father? Please, please answer me." He said, standing up and following Sherlock into the hall.

"You deal with him John." Sherlock said without turning around and hid in the kitchen, coughing to hide the tears that threatened to fall.

"You started what?" John said in disbelief, unable to comprehend what his son was telling him.

"I'm so sorry, Dad." He said, tripping over his words.

"No, you don't get to be sorry, boy. You promised me, you promised me that this you would never do this. Sex, alcohol, it could have been anything, but you chose this. Drugs, Hamish, drugs."

"Dad, I'm sorry." Hamish repeated, crying now.

"Don't bother." John said and stood up. He took his coat from the stand and pulled it on.

"Please don't go, Dad." Hamish said, still in tears.

"We'll talk later, you get in there and apologise to your father." John muttered as the door slammed behind him.

The London air was icy cold on the tear tracks on John's face. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't seen it coming.

"Should've noticed the signs." He said to himself as he walked down the busy street.

"F-father..?" Hamish called down the hallway of 221b Baker Street.

"What did you take?" Sherlock said, walking into the living room.

"Father, I'm-"

"What did you take?" Sherlock repeated, cutting of Hamish's apology.

"Ecstasy."

"You stupid child." Sherlock spat, and threw himself down on the sofa beside Hamish, and held his son, watching as the teenager who was once a little boy sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

John was no stranger to addiction, as a doctor he'd been exposed to it for a long time. There was nothing new about it, to him, not even with Sherlock. He knew what he was getting himself into. Every so often he would think to himself, 'why did I get involved with a narcotics addict?' and then he'd remember. He'd remember his quirks, the ridiculous curly hair, his tendency to talk to a skull, all of the stupid things that drew him in in the first place.

The last time Sherlock had done it, was nearly two years ago and he had promised John that it was the last time, the very last time. John was naive enough to believe it.

He hadn't however, expected his son to follow in his father's illustrious footsteps. He was almost eighteen, but he was still just a stupid teenager with raging hormones.

When he thought about it, he had noticed the signs but hadn't connected them to substance abuse. Hamish's hands quivered, his eyes were constantly tired and John had even noticed him throwing up. He disappeared, totally vanished off the face of the earth for hours at a time, and was a completely different person when he returned.

"Fucking hell." John cursed at the icy wind blowing in his eyes.

The sun was starting to set over the already dark and dreary city, and rain was threatening. He didn't want to go home but he knew he should anyway. He turned back, his steps dragging him back to where he had run from, and to where he had no hurry in returning.

He hadn't even noticed where he was walking, but he hadn't gone far. 221b was only a fifteen minute walk back, but he managed to stretch it to 20. Reaching the flat door, John took out his key and shoved it in the lock, and twisted it hesitantly.

"Dad!" Hamish cried and ran over, throwing his arms around John. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Dad, please believe me! He pleaded with him, his arms still holding John down.

"I know you're sorry, son." He said, and pulled Hamish off of him, as Sherlock wrapped his arms around him.

"I talked to him, it'll be okay John." Sherlock mumbled, and John relaxed into him.

"You should have told me earlier, Hamish.." He said, adressing Hamish this time, but still tightly wrapped in Sherlock's embrace.

"I should have. But I couldn't. I didn't know how." He said, as Sherlock let John go.

"It's alright now, son." John sighed. "What are you using?"

There was total silence for what felt like an eternity to John. Hamish looked over at Sherlock, who nodded at him.

"Come on, don't hold back from me Hamish." John begged him.

"Ecstasy." Hamish choked on his guilt.

"Oh, Hamie..." John sighed. "How long?"

"Few weeks." He admitted, and John was almost glad in a way. He'd caught it reasonably early.

"We can fix this." He said trying to inject some hope back into the situation.

"I'm sorry Daddy, I love you." Hamish sobbed, as he kissed them both goodnight, and sauntered up the stairs.

"We'll sort this out, It's okay." He said, and hugged his child. "Go to bed, Hamish." He finished, and waited for Hamish to disappear upstairs.

"Hey you, don't you bloody cry too." John said to Sherlock, who was sitting in his armchair sobbing quite hysterically.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you." He cried.

John reassured him and pulled Sherlock's head into his lap, raking his fingers through his deep brown curls.

"It's okay, Sherlock. Everyone gets hurt eventually." He said back, looking away so that Sherlock wouldn't see the tears that were rolling silently down his cheeks.

"You're crying." Sherlock muttered feebly.

"No, I'm not." John breathed, failing miserably at convincing Sherlock that he was totally fine.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said for the ten millionth time that night. "Maybe you'd have been better off with someone else." He suggested, talking mostly to himself. "

"Maybe if he didn't have me as a father, this would never have happened." Sherlock mumbled, looking at the floor.

"Never, Sherlock. Don't be so stupid." John shot back, as Sherlock sat up and turned to face him.

"I'll never do it again, John, I promise." Sherlock choked through his hysterical sobbing.

"No more promises, Sherlock. You don't have to promise me. I trust you." John suggested, holding him tightly, letting his tears fall too.

"I love you John." He said into John's shirt.

"I know you do, Sherlock." He whispered back, wiping the tears out of Sherlock's eyes. "It's going to be okay, Sherlock, I promise you. It will all be better soon." He said, as he traced the faded track marks on Sherlock's forearm. "No more of this." He whispered gently.

"No more." Sherlock finished.


End file.
